Chapter 22
Dressed in a white muslin nightgown, Samantha cradled Alexandra in her arms while making a slow turn of the nursery.
She padded across one of several rugs, humming a tune intended to soothe and encourage her daughter to sleep.
A fire burned in the grate, the low crackle and warmth it produced creating a cozy atmosphere in which the concerns from the world beyond were quickly forgotten.
Holding her daughter close, Samantha kissed the top of her downy head.
The answering murmur of satisfaction made her heart swell with joy.
This was her treasure — the only thing that truly mattered.
Alexandra and Adrian were everything to her.
To think she’d ever believed herself whole before either of them came into her life still surprised her.
All that remained now, was for Adrian to return from whatever business he’d been engaged in today.
Soon, she hoped.
It would be good to see him before she too fell asleep — to share a quiet moment together in which to discuss what they’d each experienced throughout the day.
She was especially eager to learn of Adrian’s search for Murry, whether Lady Edwina had been returned to her brother, and how Wrengate had responded to all that had happened.
The duke could be brutal, but so could Adrian. If anyone was capable of standing against Wrengate, it was he, though the duke’s title did technically make him more powerful than her husband. Socially speaking, at least.
Should Wrengate choose to use that power for destruction, Adrian might find himself facing fabricated charges once more.
She shuddered at the thought of it.
As though sensing her distress, Alexandra whimpered slightly, but soon settled back to sleep. Samantha expelled a deep breath and returned to her humming. She took another few turns of the room before gently placing her daughter in her cradle, and glanced at the clock that sat on the mantle.
It was nearly eleven.
A yawn forced her mouth open. She covered it with her hand. Lord, she was tired. Between feeding Alexandra and entertaining her throughout the day, she had little time to rest. Now would be a good time, except Adrian still wasn’t home.
Perhaps she could read while she waited? That ought to be relaxing.
She stepped through the door that separated hers and Adrian’s bedchamber from the nursery and picked up the book that lay on her nightstand.
The Mysteries of Ferney Castle by Robert Huish.
A bit of port would make a lovely addition.
She poured a small glass, then took a seat in one of the armchairs that stood before the fireplace.
Her gaze fell on the dancing flames. Vibrant shades of orange, yellow, and red filled her vision. She sipped her port and opened the book to where she’d left off.
The warmth from the fire floated around her. A few more sips of port were interspersed with additional reading. Only for her to find herself re-reading the same line three times for the meaning to register. She sighed and set the book aside, then leaned back against the plush seat.
Perhaps she’d close her eyes a little.
Just for a moment.
* * *
As days went, this had been a long one. Adrian looked forward to returning home and relaxing with Samantha. He hoped she’d still be awake so he could tell her of all that had happened.
Assembling men to escort Wrengate had taken time.
Turner and Ward had been the obvious choice, but Adrian worried about their loyalty toward Murry and how Wrengate would respond if he learned of it.
So Adrian had called in favors from Cummings and Fizherbert.
His secretary had a good head on his shoulders, while Fizherbert’s ruthless persona would hopefully convince the duke that Adrian was on his side.
After sending the pair off to Deerhaven Manor with Wrengate, he’d gone straight to Murdoch and asked for his help once more in locating Murry.
If one of his informants had spotted him or Lady Edwina at a different location, Adrian wanted to know.
He’d even visited all the main coaching inns himself in order to inquire after a couple who matched their descriptions.
As expected, nothing had come of this effort.
Murry would have been wiser than to make his movements so easily traceable.
If Adrian were to guess, he and Lady Edwina were still in London and would remain here until Murry was sure everyone believed them gone and had stopped trying to track them.
But he’d steer clear of the places where he expected Adrian to come looking.
This still left Wrengate for Adrian to contend with. Once the duke returned from Deerhaven Manor empty handed, he’d be all the more furious.
An issue Adrian meant to push aside for now in favor of doubling his efforts to find Finn O’Leary.
The Irish bastard’s silence was troubling.
It could mean only one of two things: He was either biding his time while planning another attack, or he’d perished by some other means.
Considering what Adrian knew of the man, he’d stake his life on it being the former.
The hackney he’d commandeered after making his final inquiries at The George in Southwark drove unhindered through the near-empty streets. Few people were out tonight.
Tilting his head back, he glanced toward the sky as they turned onto Piccadilly. The moon peeked out from behind the edge of a sloped roof. Stars shimmered like silver flecks of dust strewn across a black canvas.
Another turn brought them onto Oxford Street. And to a sharp halt. Adrian slammed against the back of the seat. Someone must have run into the road, forcing the coachman to yank on the reins. It was the only explanation that made any sense.
But when the carriage failed to continue its progress and remained at a standstill for several moments, he opened the slat in the roof and called to the driver, “Why aren’t we moving?”
“There’s traffic,” answered the driver. “Several carriages blockin’ the way. Not sure why, only I reckon somethin’ must ’ave ’appened. An accident maybe.”
“I’ll walk from here then,” Adrian told him and promptly opened the door.
He smelled the smoke before his feet hit the ground. Thicker than usual. More pungent than what was produced by the chimneys.
And there was shouting. Distant, but urgent. He snatched some coins from his pocket and paid the driver, even as his stomach wobbled. The hair at the nape of his neck stood on end. Something wasn’t right.
Setting off at a brisk walk, he passed the stopped carriages lining the street in both directions. They were unable to move on account of the ones that had turned toward Portman Square having come to a standstill.
Increasingly uneasy, Adrian quickened his pace.
He rounded the corner and caught his first glimpse of the horror that would haunt him for years to come. His stomach dropped and his heart stumbled. Time slowed to a crawl.
An orange glow filled the square. Thick plumes of smoke rose toward the pristine night sky. Adrian took a step forward, then another. It felt as though he were wading through mud. Someone shouted his name but he’d no idea who, his entire focus on the building that burned.
His home.
His family.
His family.
Dear God in heaven.
Clarity pierced the fog, allowing the pieces of knowledge assaulting his senses to fall into place. This was real, not imagined. Flames were devouring Number 5.
Terrified for his wife, his daughter, the servants in his employ, Adrian ran.
Toward the burning building.
* * *
Samantha clutched the wet bundle she’d made in her arms and tried the door handle. Warm, but not hot. She eased the door open and entered the hallway, Alexandra’s unhappy wails like a warning to all that they needed to flee.
A sharp noise had startled Samantha a few minutes earlier, snapping her out of her slumber and into a rigid position. The shattering of glass from somewhere below had brought her upright. She’d instantly checked on her daughter and had breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing that she still slept.
A brief reprieve, abruptly brought to an end when she’d noticed the ethereal light through a parting in the curtains that covered her bedchamber window. She’d pulled them aside and felt her heart shrink upon seeing the glow that brightened the darkness.
Fire.
The house was ablaze and…
She’d whirled from the window and to the dresser in which Alexandra’s bedsheets were kept. Water splashed as she hastily emptied the washstand pitcher into the matching basin to soak a sheet and scarf she’d dumped inside.
Shouts sounded – Elks’ voice — as he became aware of what was transpiring.
Someone banged on her bedchamber door.
“Get yourself to safety,” Samantha yelled. “I’m coming.”
“But—”
“Go!” The command was delivered as she collected Alexandra and wrapped her in the wet sheet.
A whimper conveyed the baby’s disapproval and swiftly gave way to a louder cry as she came more fully awake. The wet sheet would be cold for Alexandra. Uncomfortable, but a necessary precaution against the heat Samantha feared they would have to pass through as they left the house.
Having tied the equally wet scarf around her nose and mouth, she approached the stairs. Anxious shouts came from every direction. Smoke was already visible near the landing, drifting upward like a filthy fog.
The fire was spreading fast.
Holding Alexandra firmly in her arms, Samantha started down the stairs, and was met by Stewart, one of the footmen, who was going the opposite way.
She stopped, deliberately blocking his path. “What are you doing? You have to get out.”
“Not while there are still people upstairs.” He coughed while attempting to cover his mouth and nose with his arm. “I’ve got to warn the rest of the servants.”
“No.” Samantha could see the tragedy this could lead to – Stewart vanishing up the stairs and getting trapped. This, being their last interaction. The guilt she’d have to live with when every servant here was her and Adrian’s responsibility.
But with Adrian gone…